


you could tell the difference

by cinderlily



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt guessed he hadn’t properly let himself worry about the game until he was standing outside of the Staple Center waiting with his dad for Puck to show up.  (In which Kurt, Burt, and Puck go see the LA Kings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could tell the difference

**Author's Note:**

> A part of the [down is where we come from](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/down_is_where_we_came_from/works) series written with [](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/profile)[**carolinecrane**](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/), you are going to at least know the gist for this to make sense, I think. :)

Kurt guessed he hadn’t properly let himself worry about the game until he was standing outside of the Staple Center waiting with his dad for Puck to show up.

The last time that he’d been to the Staples center was for Lady Gaga’s latest tour date. This crowd had surprisingly similar amounts of glitter, silver and purple, just calling out for Kings rather than … well. Queens. He decided not to mention this similarity to his dad. Possibly because that’d require talking to his dad and he was feeling a little high strung at the moment.

He’d freaked out on his dad twice since he picked him up at the airport four hours before hand, and it was totally not his fault at all. He felt kind of horrible about it but it knew his dad understood. Naturally that made it all worse.

“So… where’s this guy meeting us again?”

“Puck, his name is **Puck** ,” Kurt corrected and turned his head to look both ways. “We’re supposed to meet him here.”

He checked his phone. It stubbornly hadn’t rung or beeped in the twenty minutes since Puck said he was on his way and to meet on Figueroa. It was five fifty eight and Kurt was having the sudden breakdown inevitable of his dad meeting his _boyfriend_ at a hockey game and only giving the vaguest details of WHERE to meet. It wasn’t like they were in the second biggest city in the NATION.

“Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt jerked around to find Puck shaking hands with his dad. Even after a pretty long blink Puck was still there, beaming a slightly self-satisfied smirk his way.

“You must be Chuck,” his dad smiled.

He wanted to roll his eyes but Puck seemed to gloss over the obvious clichéd dad antic and took the situation in hand. He slung his arm around Kurt and smiled. “Puck, actually. Which way to the ice?”

 _  
**Fic :: (Kurt/Puck) "you could tell the difference"**   
_

*

Kurt might've underestimated the fact that while he was used to Ohio winters it had been a while and there was indeed ice on the field. He made it through twenty minutes of shivering before Puck slipped his motorcycle jacket over his shoulders. Kurt would have probably made a point to be thankful but annoyed about it if he was able to get a word in edgewise.

His dad and Puck had hit it off like gangbusters.

Before they’d even entered the arena, when Burt had made some comment about seeing the Penguins get crushed and Puck lit up like Christmas. It turned out Puck was a Devils fan where his dad was a Bruins fan so the Kings were just a means to an end but that was more than enough to bring them together.

Puck bought them beer, all three of them, and even though he was twenty one he wasn’t sure he liked his dad watching him drink so he took perfunctory sips off of the cup while Puck and Burt threw them back. A guy came by and Burt bought a second round (with an entirely unnecessary refill for Kurt) and it was like the Finn debacle all over again.

Except… well. He liked that his dad and Puck got along. There wasn’t any real jealousy in the interaction like with Finn; it was a giant relief actually. Yes it had only been like a week since this whole thing started but he was … everything was serious. Or something. Puck was kind of intense about things and he kept expecting to feel the jittery urge to run away screaming and he didn’t. If anything he was careful not to push the boundaries even further.

Were he honest with himself – and really, where else can you be honest with yourself then when packed into a giant icebox with your dad and boyfriend? – a part of him had been hoping his dad wouldn’t like Puck. That he’d meet him and immediately forbid Kurt from moving to fast with him. Maybe then he’d be forced to really think about the whole situation beyond the curling warmth he felt in his stomach at Puck’s hand curled comfortably beside his on the armrest and the smell of Puck’s jacket around him. It was just. All very confusing.

His father looking like he was already planning the Devils Christmas ornament or something was _not_ helpful at all.

“You okay?” Puck asked, the warmth of his breath on his ear sending a shiver all the way up from his toes to his ear tips.

He jerked his head and almost hit Puck’s nose. His dad wasn’t in the seat beside them and he realized there’d been time lapse in his panic. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You haven’t said a word the whole period,” Puck leaned back in his chair. “And you look like you’re trying to melt the ice with your eyes.”

“Where’s my dad?”

Puck cocked his eyebrow at the obvious subject change. “The bathroom and concessions.”

Kurt bit at his lower lip and glared as the Zamboni passed them. “Oh goody, another beer to add to my collection.”

Puck let out a distinct sigh and Kurt couldn’t blame him. He was being a brat but if he couldn’t articulate the reason to himself he wasn’t going to bother trying with Puck. Rather he just sat there huffily avoiding eye contact. This wasn’t what he pictured his night going as.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Puck got to his feet and went across Kurt to the aisle before Kurt could object. His dad passed Puck in the aisle and blinked when Puck just passed him by.

“Where’d he go?”

He put his hand up to cover his face when he realized he was being the date from hell and **his dad** was there to witness the whole thing. “Uh. Bathroom?”

But the truth was he had no idea where Puck was going. He could be using the ‘one minute’ ploy to get himself out of the arena, onto his bike and halfway to Mexico by the end of the night. The worst part? Kurt wouldn’t blame him.

Burt shot a few sidelong glares in his general direction when Puck hadn’t made it back for the start of the second period. Kurt ignored them and focused instead on the way his fingers curled around Puck’s riding jacket. He felt a mixture of completely stupid and annoyed.

He wasn’t the type of person to hold their breath for anyone damn it. So why was it felt like he didn’t exhale until the moment the seat beside him was refilled and he looked up to find Puck holding a Mike’s Hard Lemonade and a bag of red vines.

“GET EM NINETEEN! GET EM!” Puck called, his two hands cupped together and making the noise reverberate around them.

Kurt felt his chest go tight and he noticed his dad looking at him again from the corner of his eye. He forced himself to look at the game and took long sips of the Lemonade.

*

  
He hadn’t expected to see Puck’s bike parked out front when he got back from settling his dad into the hotel. It was late, or early? And the night hadn’t been one that spoke of sex even of the make up variety, as they hadn’t actually had a fight. Puck was at his front door. Kurt watched as he shifted from foot to foot—he was nervous.

“Hey,” Kurt said, because apparently he hadn’t heard his footsteps. Puck turned and Kurt stumbled at just how open he looked. Nervous and anxious and exposed, words he wasn’t sure he associated with Puck as of yet.

Puck just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed and lips puckered up like he was a damn model or something. But a very upset model. He nodded like there had been a question that needed answering and opened the door, brushing past the warm presence that was Puck and into the dark foyer.

It was a Friday, and late or not he seriously doubted Brittney would be home for hours. He put his keys near the pile of mail that needed to be sorted and turned around nervously.

“So how about that game, huh?” he tried lamely.

Puck, who was somehow right there beside him, tilted his head. “You ready to clue me into what the hell happened tonight?”

“Kings beat the Penguins,” his snap was more tired than bitchy. “You were there, I believe.”

A hand shot out in front of him to block him and Puck’s face was all angles and lines. “You know that’s not what I meant. Did I do something wrong in front of your dad?”

“No.”

“Are you a closeted Kings fan?”

Kurt frowned. “I am not a closeted _anything_ , Puck.”

“Well,” Puck put both hands up and backed away a little. The space wasn’t as comforting to Kurt as he would have liked. “Then I got nothing.”

Kurt clenched his fists at one side and then unclenched. He felt like a kid again, like he really was that stupid kid in the dumpster all over again. But he wasn’t, and more importantly Puck wasn’t the guy who put him there. It was just… there. This thought that he had been that guy and he _could be_ him again.

Everything felt weird.

Puck just stood there, an acceptable distance away but still taking up too much room. Kurt brought one hand up to his face and brushed his bangs back nervously, he needed a haircut. Or maybe a Xanax. He couldn’t quite break eye contact with Puck, who seemed to be okay with the staring contest.

“I don’t get _hockey_ ,” Kurt admitted, almost miserably.

When Puck laughed he flinched.

“No. You don’t get it,” he frowned. “I don’t like hockey. Or basketball. I kind of get into baseball but mostly the uniforms. I like musicals, and I enjoy my reality shows like nothing else. I’m not that different then who I was four years ago and yet you…”

Puck quirked an eyebrow,“…I?”

“You show up to meet my dad and _charm him_. You were on time. You … gave me your jacket and you were attentive. That’s not… **Who are you**?”

“I think the better question is who do you THINK I am?” Puck looked as close to full on angry as Kurt had seen him in the last week. “I mean, I get the assumption I might punch you that first night. But do you really still think I’m that douche from high school?”

Maybe angry was quite the right word for it, and when the word ‘hurt’ flashed before Kurt’s eyes he had to take a gulp of air.

Puck had inched back a little further. “You think I’d stay around here just for laughs of something? And don’t give me that bullshit about who you were four years ago. NO body is who they were four years ago.”

“What if I am?” Kurt bristled.

“Well, if you _were_ ,” Puck walked back into Kurt’s space. “I wouldn’t be here.”

He licked his lips and tried to keep a frown on his face, though the corners turned upwards without permission. “You wouldn’t be?”

“You were kind of boring back then.”

Kurt gawked. “BORING? I was NOT boring.”

“You kind of were. Predictable,” Puck added, but he was just a bit to close to let Kurt stay indignant. “Invisible.”

His skin was prickling at the heat of Puck’s breath. He swallowed. “And now?”

Puck wasn’t moving, just stood there with the patience of a monk. Kurt could almost feel Puck’s pulse beating and yet he wasn’t moving an inch. Kurt gave him, always did, and swayed towards him to take a kiss. And then another. And so on.

Somewhere between the foyer and his bedroom he heard Puck mutter happily, “See, not invisible in the least.”

Maybe he was different. Or maybe he was just different with Puck. He was beyond caring.

*

  
His phone had two text messages on it when he woke up, weird as he stopped texting years before hand. It did narrow down the culprits though. The first was from Finn, oh lord.

“Hrd U had good time w dad? C U Thxgvg?”

And he hesitated not to just delete it, atrocious spelling alone. He smiled though and sent as vague a text as he could think up with Puck still curled up beside him, arm draped across his chest and distracting him.

The next was Carole, and… well. He had a weird relationship with text messages from her. Whether they be those obnoxious “*text THE person you LOVE RIGHT now*-*” or the even worse forwards of horrible things happening in LA that she used as a way to convince him to come back to Ohio. Like that was ever going to happen. But he opened it either way.

“Oh… oh. Talked to your dad. Oh Kurt. <3”

He blinked at it with hopes of the rest of the text coming at any time. It didn’t and the words were just there, followed by netspeak -–for the love of everything—and he just. Well. He didn’t have to guess what she was going towards.

“Quit moving,” Puck grunted his disapproval and reached out a little further along the bed to pull him closer.

Kurt would shove back but the position was close enough that it felt comforting and warm rather than tight and like a strange octopus so he gave Puck a break. He put the phone down beside his pillow and dug in to Puck’s neck. He was still sleepy enough that if asked later Kurt had plausible deniability but it was addicting to catch the sweat and dirt pre morning cleaning ritual. It was something just his and he liked it.

Oh man, he was so far gone and he had no way to get back.

His phone started playing “Glory Days” barely an inch from his ear and he practically slammed himself back into Puck. Puck grabbed at it and pressed it to his ear about a half a second before Kurt remembered that was his _dad’s_ ringer.

“Kurt’s phone,” Puck started with fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice lax with sleep. A second later, however, he was bolt up right in bed and completely awake. “Oh, yeah, Mr. Hummel… _Burt_.. yeah. Um. Sure. Breakfast sounds good. I’ll just tell Kurt when he … gets out of the shower? We’ll be there in twenty.”

He turned off the phone and was instantly cracking up.

“That isn’t funny!” Kurt took the nearest pillow he could find and made contact with Puck’s chest. “That’s my _dad_. He’s going to think we were… were….”

Puck’s lips landed right on the base of his collarbone and he forgot the rest of the sentence for a second. Puck took advantage of it and kissed up towards his mouth, the only thing saving Kurt’s brain cells was the sudden onset of morning breath.

“TWENTY MINUTES? YOU TOLD HIM WE’D BE THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES? THIS IS LA.”

Puck just laughed.


End file.
